Long Live The King
by Violet Abilene
Summary: The only way to describe death is silent. One-shot.


**AN: I do not own K. Enjoy!**

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Silent. That was the only way Mikoto Suoh could describe dying. While you're living, you're surrounded by noise. Then, once your heart stops beating and you leave the world in favor of another, more mysterious type of dwelling, it's like you suddenly go deaf. You don't hear a sound, not a one. What you're seeing as you die doesn't provide much in the way of insight or comfort, either; all you see is a blinding white light.

'Since when have I needed comfort, though?' thought Mikoto ruefully as the white stretched on in front of him. He didn't know where he was headed - did he really even _want _to know? - or what was in store for him when he ever got to where he was supposed to go. Mikoto, never being the type of person to fight the inevitable, simply closed his eyes and let this light transport him.

It seemed like only a matter of seconds before that slight movement the stretching light provided halted. Mikoto opened his eyes, jumping slightly as he took in his new surroundings.

He was in a field, a field where the grass was a richer, deeper shade of green that Mikoto had never seen on the grass of Earth. He looked up and saw an endlessly blue sky, which confused him.

'Wasn't it closer to being night when I left?' Mikoto wondered for a moment before chiding himself, remembering that he _was_ dead, in a field made _for_ the dead, so temporal rules of nature didn't exactly apply here.

After this silent admonishing of himself, Mikoto continued to look around in awe, noting the other colors in the area. That was what set this field apart from a normal field; while some of the colors that were found in this otherworldly nature were ones that weren't impossible in nature anywhere else, the _intensity_ of these colors are what set them apart. Pure, beautiful whites streaked the sky sporadically like thin clouds and touches of rich and gleaming golds kissed the tips of the grass blades like unfiltered sunshine. Even, Mikoto noticed with a twinge of irony, deep but bright shades of red and blue stood at attention as the flowers on the field on which Mikoto stood. The Red King wasn't sure if these heavenly flowers had always been those colors or if it was the work of God or some other supernatural force with a sense of humor.

As Mikoto gazed at these colors, a sudden voice broke through the once deafening silence, familiar and cheerful.

"Mister Mikoto!"

Eyes widening, he turned around and became face to face with Totsuka Tatara.

Totsuka looked exactly as he had on that fateful December night, his white button-up shirt pure and pristine, his eyes light and cheerful, his smile welcoming and sweet. Not one scar or drop of blood was on the boy. It seemed heaven had erased any physical evidence of his plight. A quick downward look at himself revealed to Mikoto that his blood was also gone, his wound no longer visible, as well.

"Hello, Mister Mikoto! I hate to say it but I've been waiting for you. I've watched over everyone since I died, so I saw the Blue King put that sword through you. When that happened, they sent me here to come get you."

"They? Who would 'they' be, Tatara?"

Totsuka's smile adopted a somewhat sad look to it but stayed intact.

"The angels. When someone close to you dies, be it a family member or a friend, they send all the relatives or friends that have already passed here to greet them and take them. I call it a bittersweet welcoming committee," Totsuka replied, adding the last sentence with a chuckle.

"Take them where?" Mikoto asked.

Totsuka extended his hand to his king, his smile returning to its full force.

"Heaven, Mister Mikoto."

"You mean...this isn't heaven?"

Totsuka shook his head.

"No, Mister Mikoto. It's more like heaven's waiting room, like at the doctor's. The people who have someone to claim them come here first after they die. The people who don't, they go right up to heaven. That's what happened to me." Totsuka's voice became slightly melancholy as he added, "sometimes I wonder what's better: going right to heaven or having someone who can claim you."

Totsuka abruptly shook his head, as if to ward off his negative thoughts.

"Anyway, that's what this place is. Now, come on, Mister Mikoto. They're waiting on us."

Smiling broadly, Mikoto took Totsuka's hand and joined him as a member of the bittersweet welcoming committee.

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"Tatara...it's really amazing up here."

"I know, Mister Mikoto. What's even better, you can watch Homura from up here!"

Mikoto released a sigh in mock fatigue.

"A king's work is never done, huh?"

Totsuka shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "Apparently not, Mister Mikoto."

Mikoto grinned slightly as he and Totsuka took a seat upon the clouds and looked down at the island, which had grown dark with the fallen night. Despite being so high up, the pair could see all that was going as perfectly as if they were down there themselves. They saw Sceptor Four, celebrating over the return of their king...and they saw Homura, mourning the loss of their king. It reminded Totsuka of the comedy and tragedy masks of the theater. He looked over at Mikoto, whose expression was troubled.

"Ah, come on, guys. Don't cry over me. Just because I'm gone doesn't mean that's the end. As long as you all keep your pride, Homura will always be there. It's more than a bar or a gang or a tattoo or a king; it's a family! And families don't give up and cry so easily. So stop sobbing over me like a bunch of wimps! No Blood, No Bone, No Ash, remember?"

"Mister Mikoto! That was rather harsh," Totsuka scolded. Mikoto shrugged.

"They can't hear me anyway, Tatara."

Suddenly, as if to refute Mikoto's words and continue the motto that he had stated earlier, a chant began throughout Homura.

"No Blood! No Bone! No Ash! No Blood! No Bone! No Ash!" on and on this was repeated. Totsuka looked over at Mikoto and smiled, Mikoto returning his own smile a moment later. Their smiles, however, soon turned into expressions of astonishment as various red glowing lights floated from the Homura tattoos and lit up the sky, forming, it appeared to Totsuka, one giant Homura tattoo.

"Wow! Mister Mikoto, isn't that amazing?" Totsuka breathed, his voice saturated in wonder.

Mikoto's mouth twitched into a half smile.

"Yeah," was his stoic reply.

Totsuka chuckled at his sudden lack of emotion and turned to Mikoto.

"Long live the king, Suoh Mikoto!" Totsuka declared.

Mikoto, his eyes flitting to Totsuka's for a moment, bowed his head and allowed his smile to grow broader.

"Long live the king."

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**AN: After what happened in episode thirteen, I felt I had to write something about it. Mikoto's death was really unexpected and really tore me up. I got this idea and BOOM! "Long Live The King" was born. I've wanted to contribute more to this fandom for a while and, while I wish it was a happier story I was writing, I'm still happy with this little one-shot. I just imagine Totsuka and Mikoto up there in heaven, watching and waiting to greet their fellow Homura members.**

**Mikoto Suoh: The Red King. The Best King.**


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